


But for Your Grace

by stumblednorth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stumblednorth/pseuds/stumblednorth
Summary: Post-season 13. Picks up in the church after AW!Michael leaves.





	1. I

The first few minutes, he mistakes the urgency in Sam’s hands for anger.

Sam is trembling as he pushes Jack and stumbles after him, glancing at Lucifer’s dead body then forcibly looking ahead only to glance back, over and over, all the way to the church bathroom. He parks Jack by the row of sinks and stalks over in silence to rummage in the cabinet at the end.

(Stupid stupid _stupid—_ if Jack hadn’t listened to Lucifer, Lucifer wouldn’t have found a way into the bunker in the first place and Dean wouldn’t be possessed and gone somewhere Sam has no clue how to-)

"This will hurt," Sam says, the first aid kit clattering onto the countertop as he kneels before Jack. "I’m sorry."

That’s when Jack realizes—Sam’s not angry at Jack. Sam’s _worried_ about him. He’s worried about him so much that he’s apologizing for the pain.

It only makes Jack even more painfully aware of how much he’s hurt Sam and a whimper escapes before he can hold it back.

"Hey, hey," Sam says, getting up, those kind eyes flashing in concern Jack doesn’t deserve. "Jack, are you-"

"I’m sorry, I—Sam, I’m _so_ sorry," Jack manages, voice thick and foreign to his ears through the lump in his throat. "This is my fault, this is _all_ my-"

" _No,_ " Sam says, keeping one gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder and both beseeching eyes on Jack’s face, "It’s not your fault, I promise, but I need a minute to patch you up first. Please."

_I don’t care. He’s family._

_Kill me._

Sam’s hands remain gentle as he cleans and dresses Jack’s wound, the same hands that held Lucifer’s blade out to Jack to kill Sam. Jack watches those hands and looks at the top of Sam’s head and can only see an impossibly bright glow where Sam is, glowing through the haze of pain and the hot stinging film over his eyes, just as warm as the glow of Sam’s soul, no longer visible to him now that he’s lost his grace but imprinted forever in his brain.

_I don’t care,_ Sam had told Lucifer, unthinking, sure, the unconditional acceptance and faith he’s shown Jack ringing strong and true in his voice.

Does he still not care now? When it’s Jack who brought Lucifer into the bunker and made Dean chase them down here and then leave, kidnapped by Michael—does Sam still not care how much blood is on Jack’s hands? Does he still consider Jack family?

Sam tilts Jack’s face up, hands gentle as ever, and Jack is too ashamed and overwhelmed to even look at Sam after what he’s done to him. He closes his eyes and keeps them closed while Sam brushes his hair off his forehead and washes what feels like endless slippery blood off his face.

The faucet squeaks shut and Sam’s touch disappears. Jack’s eyes fly open (so this is it; Sam has finally realized he can no longer consider Jack family, no longernolongernolonger-)

Sam pats at his face with a towel, hands still gentle and eyes still haunted, lips a tight line, and how could Jack think he would still be family when he’s the reason Sam’s smile is gone, lost and disappeared along with Dean—and both of them, _both_ of them _because_ of Jack.

"Sam, I’m _so_ sorry- "

"It’s not your fault."

"I let Lucifer into the bunker-"

"He tricked you. If anyone knows what that’s like, it’s me. He’s the Prince of Lies. _Was,_ " Sam amends, voice shaking. "It’s not your fault."

"I… Dean-"

"We’re going to find him. Listen to me, Jack. None of this was your fault. We’re going to find Dean and we’re going to find a way to get your grace back-"

"I don’t care about my grace-"

"I do," Sam says. "It’s part of who you are-"

"It’s Lucifer’s-"

"It’s _your_ grace, and you’ve saved our lives with it more than once. You’ve done good things with it. Not only that," Sam adds when Jack is about to argue, "I want you safe, Jack, and without your powers you’re not. We’re getting your grace back."

"So now you have one more burden to carry. If only I’d driven the blade in faster-"

" _No,_ " Sam says hotly. "You’re not a burden, Jack. Not to any of us, and especially not to me. _Never_ to me. Jack, " Sam grips Jack’s shoulders. "You’re human now. You can bleed. You can’t… Jack, you can’t… stab yourself, or hurt yourself like you did before. Do you understand that?"

"I…" Jack bows his head, tearing his eyes away. It’s all he can do not to offer it again, a useless _I love you_. So much love he feels practically burning inside him for this human being that he would _die_ for him in a heartbeat, all this love and it’s useless—it can’t bring Dean back, and it can’t even protect Sam now that Jack’s just a human. "I can’t even help you now, without my powers-"

"Yes, you can. You _will._ But if you’re going to help me, I need you to stay alive and safe. Okay?"

Jack nods. It takes Sam a few moments to let go of Jack’s shoulders, concerned eyes searching Jack’s face.

Sam puts back the first aid kit then stands there, lost in thought. Lost. It's only when Sam says they’ll need to hitch a ride back to the bunker that Jack realizes why: Sam has no one to pray to now. He leans on Sam as they walk out, Sam carrying most of his weight, Sam’s arm bleeding warmth against Jack’s back, and remembers Sam praying to him earlier with unwavering faith, remembers his grace leaping to answer Sam’s prayer.

Something inside Jack breaks.

He’s useless. He can’t protect Sam; he’s just slowing him down and adding to his burden. As if Sam doesn’t already have enough to deal with _because_ of Jack.

No. _Enough._

Jack makes up his mind.

Tonight, after they’re home and everyone in the bunker has fallen asleep, Jack is going to leave.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam seeks Billie, then he finds out.

Between the nightmares of Dean captive in his own mind (together with flashbacks from Sam's own Gadreel-prison), the nightmares of Lucifer still alive, and the nightmares of the moment Jack had driven the blade into his gut morphing in a horrifying loop into Jack actually killing himself before Dean had arrived, Sam is a hyperventilating, shaking mess after three hours of fitful sleep.

He knows he needs to be at his mental sharpest to deal with everything, but trying to get any more sleep is pointless. It's not like it’s the first time he’s dealt with life-or-death crap on little to no sleep.

_I heard your prayer._

_I love you._

If Dean had arrived one second later than he had, Jack would have been dead. Dead, a self-sacrifice, his life for Sam's life, on his first birthday.

Sam doesn’t know how to even _begin_ to deal with that. Just because Sam was— _is—_ ready to die if that's what it takes for them to win doesn't makes Jack's readiness to die any less of a dull, jagged stab all the way into Sam's core.

It's too soon for Sam to wake Jack up for his second dose of antibiotics and far too soon to check up on him and make sure he's sleeping comfortably—physically at least. Sam has no illusions about the emotional rollercoaster Jack's been through, let alone the fact that he might now be completely human, but Sam can still make sure he has all the creature comforts the bunker has to offer.

Sam just wants to see the kid with his own eyes, damn it. Make sure he's breathing, that the bandage isn’t seeping blood, that the kid isn't in pain or hungry or thirsty or awake and still tortured over something that was absolutely not his fault.

A hot, worried sigh sears its way out of Sam. It's been a little over three hours since Jack was a broken, guilt-wracked mess at that church and all of Sam's instincts are _still_ screaming at him to grab Jack and keep him close.

Sam _has_ to find a way to get him to understand—it wasn't his fault Dean couldn't handle Sam dying again and had clearly said yes to something he had utterly _no_ idea-

_That_ particular thought is shoved along with its snarl of emotions back into its neat little compartment. Plenty of time for that later, once Sam's found Dean and brought him back. Now it's time to get to work.

Not ten seconds after Sam starts praying, Billie's scythe glints in the periphery of his vision.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam looks up at her and swallows. "I… Thank you for answering my prayer. It's an emergency."

"Probably the understatement of the year. I have to admit I'm impressed you didn't pray to Michael in the hope of trapping him or something equally foolish."

"I can't risk getting Michael anywhere near Jack."

"Why not?"

"Jack hurt Michael's previous vessel pretty badly, and I can't risk him trying to harm Jack out of revenge."

"Like I said: Impressed. So how can I help?"

"I…" Where does he even start? "I know what I'm going to ask for is a lot-"

"And I am—much to my distress—happy to help. You know where I stand on messing with the natural order, Sam, and one Michael per universe is more than enough. Again, I'm happy to help. Wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Thank you," Sam says gratefully.

"So," Billie says, strolling around the bare room regally. "You're not planning on simply trapping Michael for eternity, are you? I take it you have something that would interest him."

Sam nods. "I do. But first I need you to check on Jack. Lucifer took his grace. Then Jack… His body didn't heal itself when he…" The words ram the ugly moment forcefully into the forefront of Sam's mind, and he digs his nails into his palms. Jack's alive. These hands patched him up and handed him his antibiotics and carded through his hair before he fell asleep. Jack is alive. "Lucifer's blade hurt him and his wound didn't heal itself, so if he's completely human now-"

"He's not."

For a few seconds, Sam can't find his voice for sheer relief. "I… Are you sure?"

"Yes. If it were any other nephilim (or angel, mind you), they'd be completely human after losing their grace. They'd also be dead after being stabbed with Lucifer's blade, never mind that it happened by Jack's own hand, of his own volition to sacrifice himself."

"Is… Does self-sacrifice make things worse?"

"Not necessarily worse—he wanted to do it to save you, right? It certainly would've made his death more potent. More immediate; more finite. Your nephilim's lineage, however, sets him apart."

_Your nephilim._ Something warm and urgent tugs at Sam's chest. If he could just check on Jack for a fleeting moment, just to make sure… "Your reaper didn't see fit to help us? Jack could have died."

"First, you know my rules, and second, Jessica wasn't there. I am Death, Sam. I have unparalelled access to self-sacrifice deaths, whether successful or attempted."

If Dean hadn't arrived when he did... _God._ "Why didn't Jack's wound heal then?"

"Because the grace he lost weakened his body—his _vessel,_ and therefore any vessel-related powers _._ We're talking about an _archangel's_ blade cutting him. Not once; twice, one of those times as a self-sacrifice. His power is still there—he can still conceal his location, for instance. But until that power is, for want of a better word, _jumpstarted?_ He can bleed and break and-"

"Wait," Sam cuts her off, desperate to stop the mental pictures. "Conceal his location? He's asleep right now and he can conceal his location?"

Billie looks at him curiously. "How do you know he's asleep?"

"Jack's asleep in his room."

"Sam," Billie says quietly. "Jack's not in his room. He's not anywhere in the bunker, in fact."

A kick in the solar plexus is what this feels like. Sam is barely aware that he's moving until he's out of his room. "I thought you said he was concealed from you?"

"Yes," Billie says, close on his heels, " _after_ he left his last graceprint outside the bunker about half an hour ago. He's _not_ here."

Sam's ears are roaring; he can barely hear her. Jack’s door is ajar. His room is empty.

There’s a note on the nightstand.

_I’m sorry for everything, Sam. You have enough to worry about without me slowing you down. I’m sorry._

_I love you._

Sam is dimly aware of his chest closing in as he turns and runs towards his room. He's going to grab his jacket and the Impala keys. He has to talk to him. He has to… "Could you… Can he still get angel radio? Is that a vessel-related power?"

"He can hear angel radio, but so can every other angel. Including Michael."

"I have to find him—he's out there alone and hurt and powerless-"

"He's not powerless," Billie says, blocking Sam's path. "You need to calm down and tell me about your plan for Michael-"

"As soon as I find Jack. Angel radio's not the only way. I know how Jack thinks. I can guess where he is-"

"I'd go as far as to say that you're the _only_ one who can. Don't you see, Sam? Everything he knows, he learned from you. I have no doubt you know how he thinks. But tell me this: If Michael finds out that Jack's gone and decides to use you as bait, how would that help your nephilim? "

Oh God. _Michael._

"Sam, calm down-"

"Is Jack… Can you tell if he's still…"

"He's alive. A nephilim doesn't just die without me finding out, let alone the only nephilim on Earth sired by Lucifer."

Sam's legs give and he slides to the hallway floor, sitting hunched over the gaping hole carved into his chest.

Billie sits down opposite him. "Tell me how I can help with Michael. What card do you hold that could possibly interest him?"

"I…" So ready to die; so fucking ready. He's only alive because Dean made it to the church when he did; Sam would die for him in a heartbeat and now he's broken and alone and convinced he's a… _burden?_ "It goes against the natural order of things."

"Naturally."

"And I have to find Jack first, because it's something only he can do."

"Then we'll find him first. So?"

Sam should have listened to his gut. He should never have let Jack out of his sight.

"Sam? Your card?"

Sam raises unseeing eyes towards her. "The Empty. Jack brought Castiel back from it."

"I heard."

"Michael is out to destroy this universe, but he's about to find there are almost no angels left. Whereas all the angels in the Empty…"

"Could be his new army. I see. Not exactly what I-"

"Oh god." Sam's head whips up, and he scrambles up off the floor. "I know how to find Jack."

"Okay then," Billie says, standing up. "Let's find your nephilim."


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Sam POVs.

What the hell was Jack thinking?

He barely remembers to thank the woman he hitched a ride with before her pickup truck clatters away over the gravel road. The motel-turned-shelter stands swathed in the early morning silence, the woods across the road, rustling and whispering and wide awake.

Jack sinks down heavily on the side of the road.

Not one hour ago—maybe even less—he'd been certain he was doing the right thing. The _only_ right thing. Find the last place Sam would suspect in the next town over, and stop being yet another problem on top of everything he's brought on Sam. He'd been so sure he couldn't get out of the bunker fast enough. He'd been so sure even the visceral pang of leaving without saying goodbye couldn't stop him. No time for self-indulgent emotions. Sam deserves to come first.

How on earth could anyone go from such absolute certainty to… to so much doubt the entire idea seems something only a moron would think of?

Is this another human thing, like the nauseating hunger lashing through his stomach? Iron-clad certainty one moment, gone the next like it had never even been there to begin with? Because all Jack wants now is to return to the bunker and know without a doubt that Sam's there, safe and close and not worried about Jack, _because_ of Jack.

What on earth was Jack thinking? That Sam would read the note, shrug sadly, then go about his business?

How could he voluntarily add to Sam's burden instead of helping him?

So Jack's human now. So what?

Sam—the embodiment of everything good Jack can think of—is human. The best person Jack has ever known, Jack's protector since Jack came into this world, the person who has been there for Jack nonstop this whole year. Sam—brave, noble, kind Sam, so infinitely kind it felt to Jack his kindness would never run out—is human.

What, just because Jack's all human now he can't help Sam? Says who?

Isn't that Lucifer's blood speaking?

_She's a human. She doesn't matter._

What the hell is wrong with Jack? How could he still be parroting Lucifer's ideas about humanity? How could this mean anything but that Jack is tainted, irreversibly and forever—

Maybe it's not too late. Maybe Sam's not even up yet. Maybe he's up but hasn't noticed Jack's absence or Jack's note, and Jack can make it back before Sam sees anything and—

"Jack Kline?"

His head whips up. A figure in black—a woman—is standing across the unpaved road, locks of reddish brown hair peeking out from underneath her hood. She's smiling sadly at him… having appeared out of thin air. His gun is in his hand even before he's scrambled to his feet.

"Jack, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Who are you?"

A scythe shimmers into existence in her hand. He's seen that scythe and that hooded cloak before, except her face was never visible—all the pictures always showed her shrouded in black.

_Oh._

So he's never going to see Sam one more time to say sorry or thank you or… anything at all.

He flicks back the safety and shoves the gun into his duffel. He won't be needing a gun anymore. This way, at least, he won't keep adding to Sam's problems. "Can I… Am I allowed one final request or something like that?"

"Sure."

He crosses the road and hands her his duffel. "Can you please return this to Sam Winchester and tell him I just… He... Please tell him I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

"I'll tell him."

"And will you please tell him…" What? What is there left to say? "Will you please let him know after I die? So he doesn't look for me? He can't afford to waste any time. He has to save his brother. He has to save the whole world."

She looks ten times sadder now. "Don't worry about that, Jack."

"No, you don't understand—he'll keep trying to find me," Jack says, knowing it in his _bones_ to be the truth. Stunned, he goes on, "He won't stop unless you tell him. Please."

She nods. "Okay. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you." At least it'll all be over. This ache to see Sam, this hot lump of regret in his throat over deserting Sam like that, this fear of anyone harming Sam like that horrible day in the alternate world—it's all finally going to be over. Jack glances at Death's scythe. "Should I… kneel, or-"

"Oh my gosh, no," she replies, aghast. She waves her scythe out of view then holds out her hand. "Ready?"

He puts his hand in hers and, right before he nods yes, he says it silently in his head, one of the very first things Sam taught him. He says it for Sam, because Sam won't get to say it.

_Good bye._

***

Sam is roaring out of the garage even before Billie's close enough to climb into the car.

She disappears from his rearview mirror to appear in the shotgun seat, like he expected. "Very sweet of you to wait for me."

"Are you sure you can't track him? Anyone could have seen him; monsters or demons or angels." Sam pushes the car to a hundred, then a hundred and twenty. "Or Michael."

"I told you, he's concealed from me. I just asked Jessica to wait outside the shelter you specified."

"Telepathy? Isn't that like angel radio?"

"No. Only Jessica heard me. She's outside the shelter now. She'll let me know as soon as she sees him and she won't let him out of her sight. Now, what are your plans when we find him?"

Pull the broken kid into his arms. Get some food into him before his antibiotics. Swear that family is never a burden. "Talk to him. God, he must be terrified, alone and powerless-"

"He's not powerless."

" _He_ doesn't know that. That's exactly why he left."

"Or that's the reason he wants you to believe."

Sam takes one, two, three deep breaths. "He was willing to die for me. I know him. I've known him since he was born. I know him and you don't."

"What about jumpstarting his grace? Any ideas?"

"No. Which is why I need your help keeping Jack safe when I lure Michael—"

"With what? Jack can't bring anyone back from the Empty in his condition."

"So? I just need to trap Michael."

"So your big plan is to _bluff_ him?"

"I don't have a choice. I can't leave my brother trapped in his own head while Michael has free rein of his body. God knows what bloodbath Michael's planning next. It would haunt Dean forever."

Sam's fingers tighten on the wheel as he rockets out of town and onto the highway. He forces himself to focus on the one part he can handle right now.

He managed to kick Gadreel out. Before that, he overpowered Lucifer long enough to save Dean and force Lucifer into the pit. If he could do that, then Dean can eject Michael given the proper motivation.

Billie clears her throat. "Jack's not at the shelter."

"What?" Sam wrestles the visions of Jack (hurtkidnapped _worse_ ) to the background of his mind. "Maybe he's concealed from Jessica as well."

"I meant he's not there anymore, Sam."

 _Anymore?_ "You said Jessica wouldn't let him out of her sight."

"She won't."

Sam slams the car to a stop, heart hammering.

Billie is looking at him calmly, still in the shotgun seat. "I'll see you soon, Sam."

Unthinking, Sam does the only thing he can think of, grabbing Billie's sleeve before she disappears...

… and he finds himself in a dark office with endless shelves.

He scrambles to his feet. "You kidnapped him."

Billie fixes him with a _duh_ glance, taking off her jacket and heading towards a huge desk.

"What happened to your clean-hands policy?"

"Wasn't working." She sits down at the desk. "Look, Sam. I can't let you near Jack. Your attachment to him is unhealthy. The first time you killed an angel, it was for Jack. You're willing to leave Dean possessed so you can find Jack first."

"Jack's family," Sam hisses, blood boiling.

"Is he? So Dean would have let Michael possess him if you hadn't been there in that church with Jack? Because I think you know as well as I do that Dean only did that to save _you._ "

"Where's Jack?"

"Look, I need Jack to solve the Michael situation. We'll handle Jack's grace—"

"The hell you will—"

"And you can concentrate on devising an actual plan, instead of bluffing a bloodthirsty archangel who's wearing his true vessel and is bent on destroying this realm."

"No—"

"See you soon, Sam," she says, and waves her hand.

***


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June through October is an incredibly busy time, and even though this fic was pretty much written when I posted chapter one back in May, the rest of the fic was still unpolished. So when s14 started, I thought of pulling this fic altogether. Then Sbritton kindly asked if this fic was going to be updated and here we are. I'm very grateful for the support. In light of the probable impending end of Tumblr, revisiting this fic gave me some much-needed solace. Thank you.

It's not what Jack expects dying to feel like: A violent lurch that leaves him so dizzy and nauseous he blindly grabs on to Death's arm with his other hand to stay upright.

A few moments later he thinks he can stay on his feet and he lets go, gasping an apology.

"It's okay," she says, steering him to an armchair in what looks like a dark… office. "Have a seat, Jack."

He sinks into the armchair gratefully. "Thank you. So is this… heaven? Or…"

Still the same sad smile. "You think I'm Death, right?"

"Uh…" The nausea is still there, threatening, and the dull ache of  _Sam, Sam, Sam._ "I know your scythe. From pictures."

"The scythe belongs to Death, yes. But I'm not her. I'm a reaper who works for her. My name is Jessica."

It takes him a moment to understand.

"I mean you're not dead, Jack. It's not your time yet."

"But… Why am I here then? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?"

"My boss needs to talk to you. I'm sorry I didn’t correct your assumption."

Jack springs up to his feet. "You didn't correct… You  _led_ me to that assumption!"

"I never lied."

"You… That's… You might as well have lied to my face." What the hell. "I have to go back."

"I can't take you back. I'm sorry."

Another wave of nausea rolls through him. "Please. You don't understand. I  _have_ to go back. Sam Winchester-"

An affectionate smile plays on the reaper's face. "Don't worry about Sam. He—"

"Sam is fine," a calm voice interrupts. Jack's head whips around to the tall woman with generous curls who has just regally stalked into the room. "Hey Jack. My name's Billie."

***

Sam finds himself zapped back behind the wheel.

"No!" It's wrenched hotly out of his throat as he punches the steering wheel, so livid he can't breathe for a few seconds.

Then he lifts his head, starts the car, and takes off for the bunker.

He won't pray to Billie again. This time, he'll summon her.

***

Billie folds her impressive height elegantly into another armchair and looks coolly up at Jack, while the redheaded liar hovers in the periphery.

"Have a seat, Jack."

"You're Death?"

"Yes. Have a seat."

He obliges, if only to jam one palm on each knee to stop his legs trembling. "I don't know why you want me here, but I'm useless to you. I've lost my powers."

"Actually, you haven't." She says it with incredible certainty, like it's a  _fact,_ then adds when he opens his mouth to correct her, "I can prove it to you. I need your help, Jack."

"I'm just a human now. I need to go back to Sam. Please. It's urgent. Life-or-death urgent."

"Is it about Michael from the other universe?" At his surprise, she smiles. "That's exactly what I need your help with."

"Then I need to go back to the bunker. Sam and I want to find Michael too. We can all work together."

"Absolutely. But there's something I need to tell you first, and if you still want to go back after that, I'll take you back. Right away; no questions asked. Is that okay?"

Jack nods.

"Do you know what Michael wants, Jack? Above anything else?"

"To end humanity."

"True. Except that he doesn’t have an angel army in our world like he had in his. So first he's going to look for angels. He'll find that there are almost no angels left. What do you think he'll do then?"

To get an army of angels? "You think… The Empty? He can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm the only one who has ever brought an angel back, and I've lost my powers. Michael knows. He was there when Lucifer stole my grace."

"I'd express my condolences about your father, but, well. It's Lucifer."

"He's not my father." His fingernails dig into his palms. Only one person has been protecting him relentlessly since he came into this world—only one person believed from the start that Jack deserved to live at all.

"I see. Well, I'm afraid Michael won't believe you've lost your powers. Maybe because, like I said, you haven't. Your powers are dormant, not gone, and some of them are working pretty damn fine. They're keeping you hidden from angels, for one."

Disbelief wars with sweet, sweet hope, because if this is true… "Then how did your reaper find me?"

"I told her where Sam thought you were headed. He was right."

Something in his chest clenches hard. "He… How did he know?"

"Only natural, I guess. He asked me to check on you and when he discovered you were gone, he couldn’t get out of the bunker fast enough. He was sure he knew where you'd be. Again, only natural. He taught you pretty much everything you know, didn't he?"

Jack nods fiercely, speechless, choking on a knot of warmth and guilt and longing and absolute, sweeping love. So Sam found out and in spite of everything— _everything_ —on his plate he dropped everything to come… No, to  _race_ after Jack. If only Jack could grab him and hold him and tell him how sorry he is.

Death is watching him attentively. "Do you know what will happen to Sam when Michael drops by the bunker to enlist your help with the Empty and finds out you're gone, Jack?"

He can barely understand at first, ice freezing up his veins.  _No._

"When he decides to use Sam as bait?"

"No!"

"You see, Jack, Michael is an archangel. It won't even have crossed his mind that the most powerful being on earth can simply lose his powers because of a lousy stab. Now, he wants his army. This world is an unforgivable obscenity to him. He needs you to make him an army. Does Dean know you and Sam were willing to die for each other?"

 _Kill me._ God. "I… He arrived after I stabbed myself. I don't think so."

"Dean's not going to like it when he finds out Sam was happy to sacrifice himself again."

Jack hadn't liked it either. Looking at Sam effortlessly offering his life up like that (just as effortless as  _He's family_ had come, effortless and unthinking and certain, believing in Jack to the end) only brought back the horror of that moment in the other world, when he'd thought Sam was gone. Sam couldn't die. A world without Sam was not a world Jack could fathom. He fully empathizes with Dean on that. He shrugs, helpless.

"If Dean doesn't know, then Michael doesn't know. But he's not blind. He can guess that Sam is the best bait he can use to draw you out-"

"Please stop." He's seen the torture Michael can do firsthand—he saw it and couldn't stop it, and the mere idea of Michael finding Sam…

"Then tell me, Jack. Do you still want to go back to Sam or do you want to stay and help me neutralize Michael first?"

Sam's safety compared to anything else? Like it's even a choice. "I'm staying."

"You agree, then? We take care of Michael then I take you home to Sam?"

"I agree." With Dean in tow, hopefully, rescued and safe, the best apology Jack can give Sam for this whole mess. "But we can't wait around for Michael to find me."

Billie smiles. "We won't. First though, given your injury, you need food and medication. I have a number of theories on ways to wake up your powers-"

"There's no time for any of that. Michael's out there-"

"Michael needs more than a few hours wearing Dean to find out there are almost no angels left-"

"Sam's in danger as long as Michael's out there. We can't wait." In fact… "We can use angel radio to tell Michael I'm here and willing to bring him his army."

"Oh, for… You think you can bluff Michael? "

"It's not a bluff. Michael can wake my powers up."

"Really? As a thank you for wrecking his former vessel?"

"Hear me out. He'll possess me, which means Dean will be free. Everyone keeps saying I'm supposed to be the most powerful thing in the world. His grace should be enough to jumpstart my powers, and I'll let him think he's got full control over me."

"And then?"

"Then I'll take us both to the Empty."

She sighs. "Self-sacrifice. The Winchester way."

It only means Jack's plan is sound. He looks at her, flushed with pride. "It's the only way to get rid of Michael."

"It's suicide."

He shrugs.

"I'll have to think about this." She gets up.

He's on his feet in a flash. "There's no-"

"One hour, Jack. In the meantime, you're going to eat something so you don't collapse." Then, somehow sensing his thoughts, "Jessica will watch over Sam and alert me if he's in any danger from Michael well in advance. Sam is probably on his way back to the bunker to try summoning me."

"Why?"

"To force me to bring you back, of course."

He closes his eyes against the jolt of longing, breathes, waits it out.

"I'll be back in an hour."

He nods. He's going to keep Sam safe,give him Dean back,  _and_ rid the world of Michael's threats once and for all. He won't see Sam again, but he's already said goodbye. It's a win-win-win.

So why does it hurt ten times worse than it did this morning, when he left?

***

None of the summoning rituals work. Sam punches the dungeon wall, frantic and terrified and desperate.

"Oh, Sam."

He whirls around at the familiar voice. Jessica's materialized in front of him, frowning in a mockery of concern.

"Is your hand okay?"

"Where's Jack?"

"Jack's fine. Sam, calm down."

He drags a hand over his face, hanging on to every last shred of patience he's got. "Where is he?"

"He's with my boss. He's fine, Sam-"

"No. He is absolutely  _not_ fine. He's scared and hungry and he's going to miss his antibiotics dose and the dressing on his wound needs to-"

"We'll see to all that, I promise."

Oh, more promises. Sam has had enough of their promises, every single one of them. "Take me to him."

"Or what? You'll trap me here? I'm not going anywhere, Sam. My boss ordered me to watch over you."

"While she, what… experiments on Jack? He's just a kid, a  _kid_ who nearly killed himself for me last night and you took him from me and you're telling me he's fine? What does Billie want with him?"

He catches it on her face before she looks away.

He's across the room and in her space in one stride. "What's she going to do to him? What does she have planned for Jack?"

***


End file.
